


Star-Eyed Babies and Honey Bees

by artimess_chimes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Tension, Awkwardly Insightful Toddler, Experiments (and baking) around small children, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Lighthearted Danger, M/M, Mycroft does something a bit not good, No Spoilers, Parent!lock, Pre-episode where everything went to shit and lots of people fake died, Slightly Crack-ish, its all good fun, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artimess_chimes/pseuds/artimess_chimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (mad) scientist in Mycroft's employ creates a baby that, biologically speaking, belongs to John and Sherlock.After the scientist is arrested, the baby ends up in the hands of his biological daddies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait, I don't understand.

**Author's Note:**

> I can already feel this story taking root and morphing in my mind to be a multi-chapter fic bit. All I wanted was a simple little ficlet of some cutsie parent!lock! But alas...  
> I have no idea where this came from, it just popped in my head.   
> I own nothing but the insane situations I put them in. All credit goes to the original-G, Sir ACD and the dark lord Mofatiss.

The child sat across from him, little legs swinging, perched in John's old armchair like he had a right to be there. He stared at John out of big blue eyes, small face blankly curious. 

"John?" Sherlock halted just as he walked through the door from the hall. "There is a toddler in our living room." 

John nodded. "Fantastic observation, detective. I hadn't noticed." 

The toddler in question was a lovely dark blonde, riotous curls crowning a chubby pink-cheeked face. He was extremely small, arms and legs dwarfed even more by the chair he sat in. He was clothed in a nice cotton button down and runabout trousers. He wore nothing on his feet and had his little pale hands folded on his lap. He looked like a small cherub.

It would be endearing, except for the fact that the child had just walked in while John was in the middle of buttering his toast,and had plopped himself down. No adult tagged along after him, and there wasn't any clues as to where he had come from, even after Sherlock sat down his beaker of acid (John wondered briefly what he was doing with a beaker of acid in the bathroom, but then gave up that line of thought as a lost cause) to thoroughly give the child a good deducing.

John crouched in front of the child. For a boy so young, his lips were markedly full,the bottom lip especially pouty. He also had long dark eyelashes that contrasted with the honey wheat of his hair. After a few moments of staring at each other,the child leaned forward and rested his forehead against John's.

"Boop." He said, and let out a bubbly,spit-it-the-back-of-his-throat giggle.

John smiled and scooped up the boy. "I wonder where he came from? He can't be any older then two. Who would leave a baby unattended?"

Just then there was a clattering on the steps and a woman was ushered in with a few well meaning squawks from Mrs.Hudson.

"Watson-Holmes!" The woman shouted. She looked windswept and worried, her black pant suit and flaming red hair skewered and out of sorts. "I can't believe you're here!"

John offered up his kindest smile. "Oh.I'm sorry Miss,we are a bit busy at the moment. Perhaps you could come again tomorrow?"

Sherlock stepped forward and loomed over the woman. "You work for Mycroft."

The woman barely spared a glance for Sherlock. She was much to busy gathering the eleven pounds of toddler from John's arms. Once the boy was in her arms,he silently flopped backwards until it became quite difficult for her to keep a hold of him. "Watson-Holmes!"

John frowned.

The toddler,looking up at her somberly,gathered a ball of spit in his mouth and left a stripe of it along her arm. She dropped him,but not so fast that John couldn't catch him. John held the boy close to his chest, cradled against his heart. "Look, I don't know whats going on but.." 

Sherlock interrupted him. "You keep calling it Watson-Holmes. Why are you calling the baby Watson-Holmes?"

"That's his name." She said, wiping the spittle from her forearm. Her face held an expression that was half-way between disgusted and charmed. "He's a precious terror,I'm just glad that he's off my hands now."

"Off your hands?" John squinted. "W'adda ya mean off your-"

"Why is one of Mycroft's people bringing us a baby? Your attitude,and your reference to the child suggests that it is our baby,but that's impossible. What exactly is my brother up to?" Sherlock squinted his eyes,suspicious.

"I am up to nothing,dear brother. I am merely delivering what belongs to you and the good doctor." Mycroft said from the door way, his umbrella acting as a cane.

John looked down at Watson-Holmes. "What is going o-"

"You don't have anything to return to us. You haven't slept for the last few days,ink smudges on your finger suggests signing papers. Is it a case? I'm not doing anymore favors for you, Mycroft." Sherlock all but snarled and stalked past John to flop onto the sofa.

"You didn't read my letter." Mycroft sniffed and shifted his (rather heavy) weight. "Shame. It detailed the odd circumstances surrounding this child. I thought you would have read it ,at least,Doctor Watson. It would have given you time to prepare." 

"Prepare for what exac-"

"Shut up, Mycroft! Your presence nauseates me."

"Don't act like a child,Sherlock. You and John are going to have enough on your hands without you being -"

"Okay,that's enough." John sat the baby down on Sherlock's chest and turned to Mycroft, tongue tip pressed to the corner of his mouth and hands on hips. "You are going to explain, right now, what's going on. No arguing, no interrupting. Just, explain." John waited with his head cocked to the side.

Mycroft sighed. "That child, known as Watson-Holmes, is the life's work of one Hillary Mallard. She was a scientist who worked for my people in Baskerville. She had been trying to create the perfect human being, someone who,genetically, would have all the traits necessary to be how she pictured the perfect child. After meeting you two, she was convinced that the pair of you were the key. She secreted away some DNA from each of you and experimented until she found a way to make an artificial ova that lacked any DNA but held injected DNA until it become a fetus. She carried the child to full term, and birthed it. She raised it for two years with no complications until this project of hers came to light. She is currently in jail, and ,as the boy seems to be human and has no ill affects of being created in such a way, since he is biologically your child, its been decided that you ought to raise him. He has no name besides Watson-Holmes, choose a new one if you must."

Watson-Holmes had a hand inside Sherlock mouth,so whatever it is that he sputtered out in response to this was lost. John merely stood still as stone, staring into the nothingness. 

Mycroft got up and wished them a pleasant day before making his excuses and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay,so what do you guys think? Should i continue this? If i do it will be at a leisurely pace because this is really just for my one enjoyment,i just want to see Sherlock and John deal with a toddler. I don't know. Gah. *hides under bed sheets*


	2. That thing is a killing machine

The child was busy tearing apart every newspaper that existed within 221b Baker Street. 

John and Sherlock were busy tearing apart their internal structure of the universe and screaming silently. 

It was an hour after Mycroft had left, the remains of the bomb he had detonated in their lives scattered about the living room, evident in stagnate tea and stuttered silence. The only creature who seemed unaffected by the sudden appearance of a child, was the child itself. 

"So, in fact. That boy is ..our son?" Sherlock was staring vacantly ahead, face drawn in confusion and shock. 

"Indeed." John gulped down his panic as well as his ghastly tea because he had never really been a man to let tea go to waste, or to let situations get the better of him. 

The pair observed the child for a moment. The boy, back lit by the streaming sun and hovering dust motes, was concentrating very hard on his work,pale pudgy hands pulling apart sentences and throwing the scattered letters around him.

"I guess.I mean, that is to say, John, we could have done worse. He is a very attractive child." 

John nods. "He needs a name." 

"Hamish." Sherlock says.

John turns to him with scrunch of his nose. "I am not naming my son Hamish. I hate having that name myself, I am not about to curse him with it!" 

"There is no need to be over dramatic, John." 

"Over drama-? Over? Dramatic?" John choked on his words a bit as he stood. He gestured a bit wildly. He supposed that this really was all getting to him a bit. "Excuse me for being just a bit overwhelmed! I just found out I have a son with my bloody flatmate, and I seem to be the only person reacting to how insane all this is! Tell me, Sherlock, does this child-" John pointed. "-change your perception on anything? At all? We have a child. Us. A son, Sherlock. We do. Two blokes with a child that was created from our-jesus, our hair or something. Christ." 

With that concluded, John plopped down and rubbed his face in the palm of his hand. The toddler began to babble nonsense as he ripped the newspaper into even tinier bits. 

Sherlock stood and walked into the living room. He picked up the boy by the armpits. The pair regarded each other, matching irises searching. Then the child laughed and reached forward with his pudgy hands, grappling for a handful of Sherlock's curls. The soft smile that lit up Sherlock's face at that made something warm and heavy twist in John's gut.

"I think Hamish William Scott Watson-Holmes would be a perfect name for this child." Sherlock said with a glance over to John. John nodded, his throat constricting with the storm of odd emotions that were tearing through him. 

"I'm going to go shopping. We need..baby stuff." John sighed. "I can trust you not to let the baby- not to let Hamish-near anything dangerous, yeah?" 

Sherlock was much too busy cooing at the toddler to pay any attention.

John was walking about Tesco's, relying on his doctor training and practicality to buy the stuff needed to raise a child. He felt adrift in the aisle, this commonplace setting seeming unreal. The only thing that kept him anchored was the memory of Sherlock's look of adoration as he held their child. God. He had a bloody child with Sherlock Holmes. How in the world was he to explain that to anybody? He could always say that Hamish was adopted, but that's something a couple who could not conceive would do. Sherlock and him were definitely not a couple. Sure, they did couple-y things and lived together but-not a couple. For sure. John definitely didn't want to be a couple either. Not at all. The biggest problem was that Hamish really did look like them. He had John's wheat gold hair mixed with Sherlock's wild curls, John's big ears and eyes with Sherlock's coloring. His lips, even as young as he was, still held the perfect cupid bow's pout that was such a hallmark of Sherlock's appearance. He really was a beautiful child. 

John's lips quirked fondly before he sighed and rubbed his face. Being a man who hated indecision, John set his shoulders and made a choice. He would raise the child to the best of his ability, show him all the love and care he could muster, and always keep him safe. He silently made his vow while staring at a tub of applesauce which he then placed into his basket.

John paid for his things and left. He walked home because he felt like he needed the time to think. Once he arrived at 221b, John thought that is was a bit too quiet. Frowning he walked up the stairs quitely, setting down his bags. He peeked into the flat.

Sherlock was cradling Hamish against his chest. Hamish was sucking his thumb and looking up at Sherlock with the unfettered trust that only children seem to manage. Sherlock was smiling and bouncing on his feet, rocking Hamish gently. John smiled to himself and was about to enter when Sherlock began to speak.

"I think Hamish is a heroic name." He said softly. "What do you think, my son? Don't tell your Dad, but your Papa Sherlock loves you very much. I am so very glad to have you, even if you were a surprise. I'm sure John is, too, he just doesn't know it yet. " Sherlock gently rubbed one of Hamish's fat cheeks with a thumb. "You are going to be so brilliant, my little Hamish. I promise to always take care of you." Sherlock blinked rapidly, his eyes shining. Hamish made a gurgle of happiness and John had to take a step back because his poor heart had had enough for one day. 


End file.
